Sitting in Mulder's darkened apartment, she fought against the tears that again pricked at the corners of her eyes. Finally, she gave into the tears, allowing herself to feel the warmth as they streaked down her cheeks. Pulling her coat tighter around her, Scully clutched her arms around her chest, feeling the sobs as they wracked her small frame.
After she had finally left the scene of the crime, Scully had found herself drawn to Mulder's apartment. For a reason she couldn't place, she had been unable simply to go home. It was as if she needed the connection that being in his home could provide.
***
Earlier that afternoon, they had been tracking a suspect as a part of a larger team of agents. She had just heard one of the wooden panels of the floor creak behind her when she heard Mulder's frantic cry.
"Scully!"
The next moment might have taken a second or a lifetime, she doubted she would ever be able to tell. In the same instant she felt Mulder's body slam into her, knocking her to the ground; however it was also that moment that she heard the deafening-shot ring out. Without hesitation, she had aimed her gun and fired at the suspect.
It was after she heard the man's body crumple to the floor that it occurred to her that Mulder hadn't moved since covering her.
"Mulder?" The question had hardly fallen off of her lips when she felt her heart begin to break. Somehow, she knew the shot she had heard had found its mark. It was like she could feel he wasn't going to outwit death this time. "Mulder . . ." Her voice was a raspy whisper, she had turned him slightly only to see the blossoming crimson stain on his back.
Slowly, she pulled his torso onto her lap and began to rock him.
A strangled gasp tore from Mulder's throat, and his eyes opened only to scan wildly. "Scully," he managed to rasp around a cough.
Continuing to rock him gently, Scully replied. "I'm here, Mulder. I'm right here." She knew she should tell him not to waste his energy speaking, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. If those were to be her last moments with the most important man in her life, then they weren't going to be spent in silence.
Mulder managed to stop coughing long enough to ask, "You 'kay?"
Unheeded, tears coursed down her cheeks. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks to you." She sniffed, unsure of what to say. There were so many things that need to be explained and expressed. And so little time. She held him tighter when he gasped sharply and closed his eyes against the waves of pain that shot through him. Aware that their time together was almost gone, she leaned her lips close to his ear and whispered, "I love you, Mulder. I've never had a better friend than you." Shifting slightly, she kissed his forehead gently.
She could feel his breathing slow and become ever more shallow, and doubted he would have the opportunity to reply. Fresh tears poured from her eyes when she heard him respond. "Thank you, Scully. For everythin'." With that, she reached a trembling hand up to his throat, praying to find a pulse. When she didn't feel the familiar vibration beneath her fingers, she lowered her hand and buried her face in the curve between his throat and shoulder.
She had heard the noises of the approaching agents, but ignored them until a medic pulled her away from Mulder's lifeless form. It was then she saw several agents hovering over the man who had killed Mulder, unable to feel anything but contempt for the man, she turned away. Standing in the midst of the chaos, Scully turned in a circle, lost in something of a daze.
She didn't realize that she was shaking until she felt Skinner's hand on her shoulder. Hastily, she attempted to wipe the tears from her cheeks, but Skinner merely shook his head. "It's not wrong to cry, Agent Scully." Scully looked at him, not wanting to take the words at face value. "Dana, I know you're hurting."
His eyes shone with compassion, he hated to see what this was doing to her. When the call had come through about an agent being down, he had known they meant Mulder. He was unsure how he had known what to expect, he just had. Over the years, Skinner had been exasperated by the two young agents under his charge. Yet, no pair of agents had ever garnered such respect from him either. He found himself at a loss to imagine the bureau without the irrepressible team of Mulder and Scully.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Skinner turned to look at what Scully had fixed her gaze on. The bureau medics had covered Mulder's face with a jacket, a last sign of respect that he was rarely offered in life. Although the senior agent wouldn't have thought it possible, he could see that Scully's features had paled even more than when he had first found her.
"Scully, let's get you out of here." Startled, she shook her head in the negative. As he watched, Scully walked over to where Mulder lay. She kneeled down beside him, and pulled the jacket away. Most of the occupants of the room diverted their attention, allowing her a semblance of privacy. Only Skinner kept his gaze focused on the tragedy unfolding before him, his heart breaking at the sight.
Eventually, a team arrived with a stretcher and began to prep Mulder for the final trip to the morgue. When Scully was finally forced to stand up, her blue eyes were clouded with pain and sought out the assistant director. "I'd like to leave now, Sir." He had to strain to catch the soft-spoken words, and moved to let her pass.
In an attempt to guide her from the building, he placed his hand on the small of her back; however, he dropped his hand quickly when he felt her stiffen. In an instant he recognized his unintentional mistake. That had been Mulder's place, he realized.
In the end, after being allowed to clean up, it had been Mulder's apartment to which she had requested to be taken. She brushed off Skinner's offer of company and walked up to the small apartment alone.
***
Memories flashed across her mind in an unending loop. Not merely the tormenting scenes of earlier that day, but of other times in their partnership as well. Watching movies together. Chasing suspects through fields and forests. Arguing over any number of theories. Sitting and talking all night during numerous stakeouts. Consoling him after nightmares of Samantha, his consoling her after nightmares of her abduction. Happy and sad, bitter and sweet. In the end, all the moments you take for granted.
She realized with a start that she could still smell him in the darkened rooms of the apartment. She had never been able to tell if he wore cologne, or if it were simply a smell that was his alone. She found she couldn't describe the fragrance in words, at least none other than
He had been her comfort, such a simple phrase that expressed so much. After Phaster, Duane Barry and even little Emily, he had been the anchor which had weighed her. But when she needed him most, he was gone. When she longed to reach out for his embrace, and bury her face in his chest as she had after Penny had died, he wasn't there. Scully found herself cursing how little remained. She hated that, in the end, they had always stayed so removed. They had both been guilty of staying back one step, and regret filled her soul.
She didn't even have a real picture of him, she realized. Drawing on a dwindling reserve of strength, she walked over to his desk and pulled open one of the drawers. On top was a familiar picture of him with Samantha at the beach, she grimaced at the blood stain it only served to remind her of Mulder's blood. She had to look at her hands to believe that she had actually removed his blood that had stained them.
That was when she saw the picture. She had hoped she would find a picture of him she could take just for herself, only she found something more. In a solid oak frame she found a picture of the two of them together. She could feel the tears burning her eyes as she looked at the moment frozen in time on the glossy paper.
In it, she was speaking and brushing her hair away from her face, Mulder was simply looking down at her with a small smile on her face. It looked like such an ordinary day, but to Scully, it was the most extraordinary thing she could imagine. One last chance to see his smile.
During the long hours of the night, Scully lay curled up on the couch, clutching the framed photo to her heart. She wanted anything just to hear the sound of his voice, his saying her name. The most common everyday things were the things she wanted and needed the most. The grazing touch of his hand at the small of her back as he led her into a room or through a door. The impish grin he gave her when he knew he was about to throw her another wild theory. They were the moments that, she realized, you never give much credence to until you lose the opportunity to ever experience them again.
She longed to brush his hair away from his forehead as she often did when he was lying in the hospital after one accident or another. Waiting for him to wake up in Alaska, fearing the worst in North Carolina. The utter relief when his hazel eyes would unsteadily find her blue one's and they would again escape the threats together. The panic she had felt after Patterson had gone crazy, or Mulder had held a gun to his head while fighting Modell. The moments that made her heart skip a beat were the same moments that occasionally made stop and relish the man that was her partner, best friend, and other half.
She remembered his bringing her cross back to her after her abduction, the connection she had felt even then to a man she barely knew. Scully remembered the intensity of emotion when she had been lying in a hospital bed dying of cancer. His coming to her bedside in the middle of the night and crying. She had felt it when his hot tears splashed on her hand. She would give anything to feel it again.
Scully knew she would give anything for one last moment together . . .
fin
Kalynn's Fan Fiction Homepage (XFiles and Profiler):
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Shadowlands/5579
Always remember to forget Those friends that proved untrue.
But never forget to remember Those that stood by you.
--- Irish Blessing
